Transmigrated: The Bankrupt CEO's Unexpected Wife

Emma woke up with a sharp pain splitting her skull. The hangover tore through her nerves like broken glass. She clutched her forehead and fell back against the pillows. Her stomach heaved.

Unfamiliar memories flooded her brain. The information overload triggered a violent wave of nausea. She gripped the silk bedsheets until her knuckles turned white. Her chest heaved as she tried to pull oxygen into her burning lungs.

She forced her eyes open and looked around the room. Orange Hermes boxes and empty liquor bottles littered the floor. The visual shock made her suck in a cold breath. The sheer waste of money made her stomach drop.

She pushed the heavy duvet off and tried to get out of bed. Her foot caught on a discarded high heel. She tripped and crashed onto the carpet. The hard impact against her knees sent a very real jolt of pain up her legs.

She crawled toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The face staring back at her was covered in smeared, heavy makeup, but the underlying features were stunning. She scrambled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was not her face.

Her gaze darted to the nightstand. A copy of the New York Times lay there. The bold headline read that the Holden technology empire had collapsed. Her heart plummeted into her stomach.

She snatched the newspaper and checked the date. The cold reality washed over her skin. She had transmigrated. The newspaper headline confirmed it: she was in the novel 'The CEO's Tender Vow', right at the point where the villain, Alek Holden, lost everything.

Rationality snapped back into place. The original owner of this body had thrown a tantrum and attempted suicide because the male lead went bankrupt. Emma knew she had to change her strategy immediately if she wanted to survive.

She scrambled to her feet and rushed into the bathroom. She turned on the cold water faucet and splashed her face. The freezing water shocked her system. A violent shiver ran down her spine.

She scrubbed hard, washing away the ruined makeup. She stared at the clean, pale face in the mirror. Her breathing slowed. She made a silent vow to stay alive.

She walked out of the bathroom and faced the disaster zone. She forced down the bile rising in her throat and started cleaning.

She picked up the designer clothes scattered on the floor. The price tags were still attached. Her mind raced, calculating how much cash these fabrics could bring in.

She tossed an empty wine bottle into a trash bag. The glass clinked loudly against another bottle. The sharp noise grated on her tense nerves.

She pushed open the bedroom door and walked into the living room. It looked like a hurricane had ripped through it. Sofa cushions were thrown everywhere.

She dragged the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and tried to turn it on. She pressed the wrong button on the unfamiliar model. The machine let out a piercing alarm.

She panicked and yanked the plug from the wall socket. Frustration burned in her chest. She took a deep breath, plugged it back in, and tried again.

Two hours later, the living room was somewhat presentable. She collapsed onto the sofa. Her lungs burned, and sweat dripped down her neck.

Her stomach let out a loud rumble. The hunger pangs were sharp. She pushed herself off the sofa and walked into the kitchen to find food.

She pulled open the double doors of the massive refrigerator. It was completely empty except for bottled water and a jar of expired caviar. She let out a heavy sigh and closed the doors.

The electronic lock on the front door beeped. Heavy footsteps broke the dead silence of the penthouse. Emma's entire body went rigid.

She peeked around the kitchen island. A tall man walked through the door. His face was cold and exhausted. The sheer physical presence of him made her breath catch in her throat.

Alek Holden took off his heavy winter coat. Cold air clung to him. He looked up and saw the clean living room. A flash of extreme shock crossed his dark eyes.

His sharp gaze locked onto Emma. She was standing there in loungewear with no makeup. He narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening in suspicion.

The oppressive weight of his stare made the hairs on her arms stand up. She forced her facial muscles to move and managed a stiff smile.

Alek ignored her smile. He walked straight to his briefcase and pulled out a thick document. His movements were rigid.

He slammed the document onto the marble kitchen island. The heavy thud echoed in the large room. The air between them turned to ice.

He slid a fountain pen across the marble toward her. "Sign it," he ordered. His voice was hoarse and completely devoid of emotion.

Emma looked down. It was a divorce agreement. Sitting right next to it was a bank card with a pitifully low balance.

She looked up and met Alek's freezing gaze. She did not reach for the pen. Instead, she placed her hands behind her back and rubbed her wrist.

Alek stared at her, his patience wearing thin. She shook her head firmly.

"I am not signing that."

Alek's eyebrows pulled together in a hard line. He looked her up and down as if she were a complete stranger.

He let out a harsh laugh. He planted both hands on the marble counter and leaned forward. His massive frame cast a shadow over her.

"What kind of game are you playing now?" he demanded.

Emma stepped back from the sheer force of his presence. The small of her back hit the cold edge of the kitchen cabinets.

She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. She looked straight into his eyes.

"You need someone to help manage your life right now," she stated evenly.

Alek looked at her like she had lost her mind. He stood up straight.

"You don't even know how to use the microwave," he mocked.

Heat rushed to Emma's cheeks. She pointed toward the spotless living room.

"I just cleaned the entire apartment," she argued.

Alek followed her finger. He stared at the clean room, his jaw clenched tighter. This level of order was beyond her. A calculated performance, but how? His eyes narrowed, scanning her for any clue.

He lost whatever little patience he had left. He pushed the pen closer to her edge of the counter.

"This is your last chance. My creditors will be at the door any minute," he warned.

Emma stared at the bank card. She knew the balance was only a few thousand dollars. If she took that money and left, she wouldn't survive a month in New York.

She reached out. Her hand went right past the expensive fountain pen. She grabbed the thick stack of divorce papers.

Alek's tense jawline relaxed slightly. He thought she was finally giving up.

Emma gripped the top of the pages. She pulled her hands apart with brutal force. The crisp sound of tearing paper ripped through the quiet kitchen. She ripped the agreement right down the middle.

Alek's pupils shrank. He stared in absolute shock as the torn pieces fluttered down onto the marble island like snow.

Emma kept tearing. She ripped the thick paper again and again until it was nothing but useless shreds. She completely cut off her own retreat.

She swept the pieces off the counter and into the trash can. She dusted off her hands and turned back to him.

"The marriage vows said for richer or for poorer," she said.

Alek stared at her. The vows hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just glared at her.

The heavy silence stretched between them. Then, a low, distinct rumble came from Alek's stomach.

A faint trace of red crawled up the back of Alek's neck. He quickly turned his back to her to hide the physical reaction.

Emma caught the subtle shift in his posture. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

"Let's go down to the convenience store and get something to eat," she suggested.

"I don't need your charity," Alek snapped coldly. He walked away from the kitchen and headed straight for the master bedroom.

Emma didn't try to stop him. She grabbed her phone and her coat and walked quickly to the entryway.

She slipped on a pair of flat shoes and pushed the front door open. The cold draft from the hallway hit her face and cleared her head.

She stepped into the elevator and watched the numbers drop. Her mind raced, calculating how to buy the most filling food with the tiny amount of change left on her phone.

Inside the master bedroom, Alek heard the heavy front door click shut. He immediately walked over to his security monitors and pulled up the hallway feed.

He watched Emma's back as she walked away without looking back. He let out a cold scoff. He was sure she couldn't handle the poverty and was running away.

He ripped his tie off his neck. He walked into the bathroom and stared at his exhausted reflection. He needed to plan his next move.

Emma walked into the 24-hour bodega down the street. She stood in front of the shelves, carefully comparing the prices of bread and eggs.

She grabbed a loaf of whole wheat bread, a carton of eggs, a pack of bacon, and a discounted jug of milk. She carried them to the register.

She used the digital wallet on her phone to pay. She watched the balance drop to nearly zero. A tight knot of anxiety formed in her stomach.

She carried the plastic bags out of the store. The freezing New York wind whipped through her thin coat. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked steadily back toward the apartment building.

Emma walked into the grand lobby carrying the cheap plastic bags. The night shift security guard stared at her. His mouth hung open. He was used to seeing the snobby socialite carry nothing but designer clutches.

Emma gave him a polite nod and a small smile. The guard scrambled to his feet and pressed the elevator button for her.

The elevator doors slid open on the penthouse floor. Emma walked quietly down the hall and punched the code into the door.

The master bedroom door was shut tight. No light spilled from underneath it. She figured Alek was asleep. She walked softly into the kitchen.

She loaded the groceries into the empty refrigerator. Seeing the shelves hold actual food made her chest feel a little lighter. She patted her hands together and went to the guest room.

The next morning, bright sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Emma woke up early. She tied a mismatched haute couture silk scarf around her waist to use as an apron.

She pulled the eggs and bacon from the fridge. She poured a small amount of olive oil into a skillet.

She dropped the bacon into the hot pan. It sizzled loudly. The rich, salty smell of frying meat quickly filled the cold apartment.

In the master bedroom, the smell reached Alek's nose. His eyebrows pulled together. His eyes snapped open.

He sat up fast. His first thought was that an intruder had broken in. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a heavy stun gun.

He stepped barefoot onto the hardwood floor. He moved silently toward the bedroom door. He peeked through the small crack.

He saw Emma standing at the stove. She was wearing her loungewear and the silk scarf. She expertly flipped a frying egg with a spatula.

Alek froze. The hand holding the stun gun slowly dropped to his side. Disbelief washed over his face.

Emma turned off the burner. She slid the perfect sunny-side-up eggs and crispy bacon onto a plate. She turned around to grab a fork.

She nearly dropped the plate. Alek was standing in the shadows of the hallway. Her heart jumped into her throat.

Alek quickly hid the stun gun behind his back. He stepped out of the shadows. His face was a mask of cold anger.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

Emma forced her breathing to slow down. She carried the plate to the dining table.

"Making an American breakfast," she said lightly.

Alek pulled out a chair and sat down. He stared at the perfectly cooked food.

"You couldn't even boil water before. When did you learn to cook?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Emma's stomach did a flip. She knew she had hit a blind spot in the original owner's identity. Her brain scrambled for an excuse.

She avoided his sharp gaze. She poured milk into a glass.

"We had maids before, so I didn't need to. But I watched a lot of cooking videos," she lied.

Alek let out a cold laugh. He clearly didn't buy the terrible excuse. But he picked up his fork. He needed to taste this suspicious meal.

He cut a piece of bacon and put it in his mouth. The crunch was perfect. The heat was managed flawlessly. This was not the work of someone who just watched videos.

He chewed slowly. He looked up and stared hard at Emma. The suspicion in his chest grew heavier.

Emma felt her palms start to sweat under his intense stare. She rubbed her wrist.

"I need to go organize the closet," she blurted out. She turned and practically ran out of the dining room.

Alek watched her run away. He swallowed the food. He quickly finished the rest of the food on the plate. He hated to admit it, but it was the best meal he had eaten in months. He stood up, his mind racing with unsettling theories, and walked down the hall to step into his study. Locking the heavy mahogany door behind him, he stood in the secure silence of the room. He pulled out his phone and typed an encrypted message to his head of security, Dale.

The message read: Check if Emma suffered any recent trauma or contacted anyone unusual.

He hit send.

Emma locked herself in the massive walk-in closet. She leaned back against the heavy wooden door and exhaled a long breath. She had barely survived that interrogation.

She turned around. An entire wall of Hermes and Chanel bags stared back at her. Her eyes lit up.

She reached out and grabbed a Himalayan Birkin. She didn't see leather; she saw stacks of hundred-dollar bills. A plan formed in her mind.